The Dark Hour
by honestly-ron
Summary: When the clock strikes 12, all of time stills. Except for the few who will battle their darkest fears, reacquaint themselves with long lost enemies, and most importantly, run. Loosely based off a prompt from Writer's Digest, though I've heard of this before. I just wanted to add in my take on it.


"Draco, be a dear and fetch me some wine, will you?" Pansy drawled from where she had flopped onto the new Slytherin green chaise Draco had purchased not two weeks ago. She kicked off her ruby red stilettos, swinging her bare legs onto Blaise's lap.

Draco huffed, rolling his eyes, but got up anyway. He made his way into the kitchen, the sound of chatter and lingering laughter trailing behind him. The blond man smiled to himself as he procured two glass flutes and a glass of his finest French wine. Draco hummed the Weird Sisters' new single to himself as he poured the crimson liquid into the two glasses.

It had been quite the evening. Draco had been dragged along to a Muggle pub, just like on most Friday evenings, by a suspiciously giddy Pansy, which wasn't like most Friday evenings. Draco had been planning on ordering some Chinese takeout, watching his favourite Muggle soap operas, before calling it a night. Merlin, was he getting old.

But of course, Pansy wouldn't let that happen anytime soon. She'd waltzed right into his flat, red stilettos clicking on the floor (Merlin knows why Draco willingly gave her his Apparition coordinates), demanding he accompany her to that dingy old Muggle pub she loved so much. After much protesting on Draco's part, and much screeching about how Draco was becoming an antisocial hag (on Pansy's part), Draco had been forced into a revealing outfit and herded out the door.

However, it hadn't turned out to be as much of a disaster as Draco had thought it would be. They had entered the dimly lit pub, Draco's nose wrinkling as he took in his surroundings, only to be greeted by raucous laughter and shouting. Alarmed, Draco had looked up to see Blaise decked out in his Armani ensemble, waving at them furiously. A grinning Queenie pulled him back onto his stool, thrusting a glass of something steaming into his hands.

"Happy Birthday, Draco!" Pansy shrilled into his ear. Draco didn't even have it in him to wince. He had completely forgotten the seemingly mundane fact that today was in fact his birthday.

The next few hours were a bit of a blur. The good kind. The kind that makes you actually enjoy life for once, making you feel like you want to stay there forever. Draco hadn't had that feeling in quite a long time. Rather than wallowing by himself, he decided to embrace it. They'd decided to keep the drinks tame (which Draco found unbelievable, what with all those parties back in Slytherin), and at one point someone had suggested they take this back to Draco's place. Overall, Draco deemed it had been a good night. He hadn't seen most of them since Hogwarts, which seemed like centuries ago, and loathe as he was to admit it, he'd had a pretty amazing time.

Draco took a quick sip of his wine, feeling the bittersweet liquid trickle down his throat. It tasted like heaven. Whatever that was supposed to taste like. The blond walked out of the kitchen, glasses Levitated behind him.

"Pansy, you better-"

Draco froze. The glasses fell to the ground, shattering to pieces on impact.

No. No. No. This could not be happening now. Not today. But it had happened. It was happening right at this very moment.

Pansy sat, her legs still in Blaise's lap, her head thrown back, red painted lips open in a soundless laugh. Blaise had his large hand wrapped around Pansy's ankle, a look of fond affection gleaming in his eyes as he looked at her. But they weren't moving. Neither was anyone else.

Queenie was resting her head on Theo's shoulder, her mouth open in mid-sentence. Astoria and Daphne had their heads bent together, shoulders hunched as they giggled together. Greg has his arm around the girls, a warm look in his eyes. He too, was frozen in mid-laughter.

Draco gulped, feeling sick to his stomach as he heard the faint screech from outside. Taking a breath to steel himself, he spared his watch a glance. 12:02. Of course.

The second howl spurred Draco into action. He vanished the wine and the broken glass, feeling slight remorse to see his best wine go to waste. That quickly disappeared when the lights flickered briefly before going out completely. Draco extended his arm, his wand falling into the palm of his hand from the holster around his forearm, hidden beneath his sleeve. He strode to his bedroom, not before casting a strong locking charm on the windows and the front door.

Draco closed the door to his room behind him, nudging the grey rug out of the way with his toe, and bending down to pry a loose floorboard free from the ground. The blond man pulled out a silver dagger, sheathed in leather. Draco also pulled free a mask, a Transfigured Death Eater mask. He hadn't been able to look at the thing without hating himself, so he'd modified it into something more to his liking after the first time.

Rummaging in his closet, Draco pulled out his thin cloak, darker than night itself. It had been one of Draco's first Muggle purchases. Perfect for keeping himself hidden, keeping him warm and cool at the same time, due to some alterations. Draco pulled it on, fastening the front together. He cast a temporary Sticking Charm on the mask before putting that on too. He glanced at the window, breathing heavily. It was time.

Draco flung open the curtains, whipping out his wand and casting a simple Alohomora, causing the windows to open without protest. He inhaled sharply as he caught sight of the cloaked figures gliding about down below. Waiting for him.

Draco sat on the window sill, swinging his legs around so they dangled outside. The soft breeze of the night blew the curtains around him. If Draco wasn't preparing to run for his life, he might've actually enjoyed this rare nice bout of weather. Unfortunately, that was not the case for tonight.

He closed his eyes, picturing exactly where he wanted to go, and Disapparated. The feeling of his innards tumbling about as he travelled through space and time itself in less than a second, consumed him. Disapparating on nights like this weren't always the best idea. Something about the whole frozen time thing, perhaps. It always made Disapparition feel a dozen times worse that in reality.

Draco prayed that the sharp crack of Apparition went unnoticed by the dark figures that littered the streets, as he crouched behind a large concrete block deep inside of an alleyway. He'd been there before, chose it even, as his hiding spot. It was useful; the creatures of the night were too stupid to even pay attention to anything that wasn't in their immediate line of sight, and it suited Draco enough.

He sighed to himself, sliding the dagger out of his belt and watching as it glinted in the bright light the moon emitted. Draco knew all too well that he couldn't just hide here for the remainder of the night. It would never end if he did. Ignoring all thoughts of self-pity and despair, Draco got up, wand back in the holster around his forearm and dagger clutched tightly in his left hand. He kept his back against the wall as he got near the end of it. Looking over his shoulder, only once and no more, Draco ran.

The sound of screeching and guttural growls followed, making him run even faster. He desperately wished for a broom as he tore through the streets, his breath coming in sharp pants. When Draco couldn't go on any farther, he came to an abrupt halt, swiveling around. The blade felt heavy in his hand, but he didn't dare stop for a moment.

They didn't know what was coming. Draco was swift, speedy and graceful. He pounced before they had a chance to register what was going on, his blade slashing smoothly and efficiently. Draco leapt off the last figure, crouching on the ground as he wiped his bloodied dagger on the grass.

The soft breeze swept through his hair, cooling the sweat that had gathered on his forehead. Draco's cool gaze landed on the heap of bodies in front of him. The urge to look under the cloaks almost overwhelmed him. He sighed, knowing that he shouldn't look, but he also wasn't just going to walk away without satisfying his insatiable curiosity first.

So Draco got up, dagger still clutched tightly in his hand. He bent over, moving a flap of black fabric out of the way with the point of his blade. The blond gasped, stepping back as if he'd been burned.

Underneath the cloak lay nothing other than his own father.

Draco swallowed the bile that had risen up his throat. He told himself it wasn't real, that it was just the cruel tricks of the night. He walked away, refusing to run. Refusing to show his fear, even though no one was around to witness it. Draco leaned against the wall of a tall building, fighting the sob that was rising up his chest.

It was the Night. It always came for him when he expected it the least. It always came for him when his emotions were the strongest. He remembered the first Night, a nightmare still deeply imprinted into his mind. Never to fade away.

Draco had barely graduated out of Hogwarts after completing his 'Eighth Year' as required by his sentence. It had all been very strange. But then again, after having a deranged Dark Lord prowling around his house for the better part of the year previous, Draco had sort of become immune to strange. He had been sure that he was going to be sent to Azkaban along with his parents. He probably would've been, if it wasn't for that blasted Potter to show up again.

Potter had testified for Draco and his mother. Merlin knows why. But Draco didn't complain. He was grateful to the git, loathe as he was to admit it. It was because of Potter that Draco's mother got her sentence reduced to house arrest and Draco's sentence to completing his N.E.W.T.S and living in the Muggle world for five years. Potter had also met with Draco privately to give back his wand. He'd apologised and wished Draco the best before he had walked away, his ever loyal companions eyeing Draco as they left with him.

It was after that that everything changed. Draco had returned to Hogwarts, one of the few Slytherins to return. Needless to say, he hadn't made any new friends that year. He was often greeted with muttered insults and the occasional hex. McGonagall had made it clear that he let her know of such behaviour if they occurred, but Draco didn't really see the point. They didn't need yet another reason to hate him.

Potter had not returned, and neither did Weasley. Granger did, however (of bloody course). It was one evening in the library when she had approached him, saying that she didn't quite grasp the principles of their latest Runes assignment (which was bullshit). Draco had seen right through her act, but he'd just played along, slightly confused as to why she was even looking at him without repulsively backing away. It happened again, almost a week later. Then once more. It was then that Draco had snapped. He didn't like pretending. Not anymore, for anyone's sake. He questioned her intentions. Why was she talking to him? Granger had patiently explained about how she wanted to get past their differences. They'd all been through a war, and new beginnings were in effect. Draco had had to admit, the girl spoke the truth. He'd apologised, for being a complete prat before, but the witch had just smiled. Like she'd finally solved a complex Arithmancy problem.

Eighth Year finished, along with an invitation to move to France with his mother, whose sentence had been completed. Draco hadn't thought of what he'd like to do with his life, and so he agreed. He had bid Granger goodbye at Kings Cross, not wanting to see or speak to Potter and Weasley waiting for her nearby. The rest had been history. Draco lived in Muggle France with his mother, even got himself a job or two.

It had been five years later. Draco had started to become homesick. France was wonderful, but it just wasn't for him. Pansy's frequent visits didn't make it any better. And so he went back. First, living with Blaise in his large flat, and later deciding to get a place of his own. His sentence had finished, and so Draco found himself apprenticing for one of Britain's most successful Potioneers. Things were just starting to look up. The remaining Death Eaters had all been rounded up by a team of Aurors (which contained Potter, obviously), and so the insults and hexing had died down to the occasional hateful glare. Nothing Draco couldn't manage.

It had been almost a year later, when Draco had experienced his first Night. He'd been locking up the potions lab in Diagon Alley, wanting to get back to London quickly so he wouldn't miss his favourite soap opera which aired at midnight. Draco had been running late, working on a complicated potion that he'd wanted to get finished by the next day. He had Apparated onto the street across from his flat, and had abruptly stopped.

It was mid-December, which meant the light flurry of snowflakes and just a little bit of frost. The snow had started to fall when Draco left Diagon Alley, but when he got to his flat, it had just….stopped. Not stopped as in there was no more snow falling out of the sky, but stopped as in, the snowflakes had frozen mid fall.

The rest of the night had been sort of a blur. Draco being chased by the mysterious figures, quickly discovering his wand was of little use and so was hiding, finding a shard of glass to defend himself until the dreadful hour was over. It had happened again, and once more. Draco had gone straight to Knockturn Alley to purchase a magical dagger with a blade that produced venom. He'd also purchased the cloak, and after much thought, Transfigured his Death Eater mask to better fit his needs.

Draco had taken to call in the Dark Hour. A single hour at midnight that no one else but Draco could experience. When it was over, time would proceed as if nothing had happened. Draco had taken to making sure he was not with people as nightfall approached, so that he wouldn't have to rush back when the hour was over. This time, he wouldn't be so lucky.

Soon after he'd purchased the dagger, he'd made some other discoveries. No one else seemed to experience this one extra hour at midnight except for himself. And he quickly discovered what lay under the cloaks of the dark figures, as well.

They were his fears. Everything he'd ever been scared of, both materialistic and metaphoric. The creatures of the night were like Boggart, except they weren't only Draco's biggest fear. They were all of his fears. Every single thing Draco had ever been scared of since forever. After that, he'd made sure to never look under the cloaks if he could help it. And he had succeeded, until tonight that is.

Draco raked a hand through his hair, kicking off the wall and stepping out into the night, dagger at the ready. He glanced at the digital Muggle watch around his chest, the bright green numerals flashing at him. 12:20. He still had forty minutes to kill. Quite literally. He set off once more, keeping a wary eye on the streets in front of him. Draco walked slowly, making sure his steps were quieter than those of the most graceful panther. Another soft breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lines along the pavement. Draco closed his eyes for a second, letting go of the constant sense of paranoia he'd been carrying since this whole thing started.

That was huge mistake number one. Something flashed in front of him. Draco blinked his eyes open at once, cursing himself for letting his guard down. He held his dagger out in front of him, automatically falling into a defensive stance. Nothing moved. Draco slowly turned around, slashing out with his blade as he caught sight of something in his peripheral.

It was too late. Almost a small crowd of them had gathered behind him and he hadn't even noticed. Draco took a cautious step back, whipping out his wand and firing spells one after the other at the cloaked creatures. Of course, nothing happened. Another perk of the Dark Hour. Dampening of magic. Draco snarled and lunged forward, determined not to go down without a good fight. He'd taken down almost half of them in less than a minute, when something really strange started to happen.

They started backing away slowly, not trying to escape, but almost as if they had a purpose. They had Draco surrounded before he could even process what was going on. There was no way to escape without being brutally thrashed by one of the creatures. Draco swore under his breath. There wasn't going to be an easy way out of this.

Then, the creatures starting moving their arms. They reached upwards and Draco's heart sank as he realized what they were going to do. They lifted the hoods off their heads, revealing….faces. Faces Draco recognized all too well. His mother, his aunt Andromeda, little Teddy, Pansy….Potter? They were sneering at him as they stepped forward.

"Draco, did you ever really think we would forgive you? For all the things you did, you deserve nothing," Aunt Andromeda snarled.

"Darling, you really think you can change things, don't you? All those horrible things. You can't change them, Draco. What's done is done, and you're a monster." Pansy.

They all stepped forward, saying terrible, horrible things. Things that were perfectly true. They were right. Draco didn't deserve anything. He was a monster. Nothing he could ever do would even slightly make things better. He was a monster-

"Let's get you out of here," a voice muttered into his ear as Draco was dragged off, somewhere. He didn't even have it in him to fight back. Strong arms wrapped around his waist, lifting Draco off the ground where he was huddled, face in his hands as he tried in vain to ignore the words.

His captor (or saviour?) set him down gently, and Draco just sat there. Completely unable to react to the fact that there was someone else other than him, as the voices still echoed inside of his head. Draco collected himself, taking a breath before gingerly removing his hands from his face. It was too dark to properly see anything, but Draco thought he could make out the shadowy outline of a real person sitting in front of him. He squinted, trying to make out features on the person's face, but to no avail. Draco relented to just leaning back against the solid thing behind him (most likely a wall...were they in his alleyway?). He quickly checked his watch again, the soft glare of the numbers telling him he still had no more than half an hour for this to end.

The silence stretched on as the minutes ticked by. Neither of them spoke a word, which Draco was grateful for. Awkward small talk with people who saved him from creatures of the night wasn't exactly his forte. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew he should probably leave. But oddly, he didn't really...want to. Maybe it was the presence of another living breathing human being. Or maybe he just wanted to know why the other person saved him. He didn't know.

It felt like near hours had passed before Draco's captor spoke. "You alright, Malfoy?"

Malfoy? It had been so long since someone had actually addressed Draco by his last name. The last he remembered was….

"Potter?!" Draco asked, incredulously. He sat up straighter, squinting in the dark to see if it really was Harry Potter who had saved him. Draco huffed, giving up after a while and sitting back against the wall. Of course, it had to be bloody Potter. That stupid speccy git just never seemed to get rid of his ridiculous habit of having the urge to save people all the damn time. It was just Draco's luck that he was stuck with Harry bloody Potter of all people, and during the Dark Hour nonetheless.

"Hey Malfoy," Potter replied, and Draco could just feel that annoying grin plastered all over his stupid face.

"Long time no see, Potter," Draco responded, smoothly. He couldn't believe he was here with Potter of all people. The world must really hate him.

"Yeah, funny seeing you here, Malfoy. I wouldn't have pegged you for the badass, dagger sort of guy."

Draco instantly bristled at the comment. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Potter chuckled. Draco found himself mildly appalled to find himself not recoiling from the sound of Potter's laugh. "It means, I've always thought you were all witty words and smarts when it came to fighting. You were never the violent sort."

"Well, if I could have a nice little chat with the damned creatures to make them leave me the hell alone, I would, trust me. Unfortunately, that's not really how it's done around here," Draco drawled, feeling the constant feeling of dread slowly waft away. He felt oddly….safe. Here. With Potter. Was he finally losing it completely? Potter, blast the man, started to laugh. Draco grudgingly offered a small smile. Potter wouldn't have to know about that.

"Merlin, I've missed you, Malfoy," Potter mumbled, half to himself. For some reason, the statement caused Draco's cheeks to heat up, annoyingly. Another thing Potter would never have to know about.

"A sentiment I don't happen to share, but I appreciate it, Potter," Draco retorted, never missing a beat.

"You're impossible."

"Now that, I can agree with."

Potter laughed again, and Draco was able to make out the familiar features of his face as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. They quickly fell into the comfortable rhythm of an easy banter. Draco found himself actually enjoying it. Being there with Potter. Just talking. About everything and nothing, all at once. Potter never once questioned what had happened back out on the streets, with the creatures, and Draco was grateful for that.

He had to admit, it felt very strange. Draco had definitely not expected to be sitting in some dark alleyway, having an out of this world experience with Potter of all people. But it wasn't all that terrible. Draco knew once this hour was up, he and Potter would go back to their separate lives, probably to never speak to each other again unless they bumped into each other in Diagon Alley, or something. Draco also knew that that was how things were meant to be. Him and Potter could never be friends. He'd learned to accept that almost fifteen years ago. But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy these few pleasant moments. That was why when Potter tentatively asked him out for coffee some time, Draco had not known what to say.

"...Is that a no, then? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Potter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"No! No, it's perfectly fine, Potter. Just a little surprised, that's all," Draco hastily recovered.

"So, that's a yes?"

"Yes, Potter. It's a yes."

A brilliant grin lit up Potter's entire face, and possibly the rest of the alley itself. And if Draco's heart fluttered just a bit at the sight of him, well, that would just have to be added to the list of things that Potter will never know.

~fin~


End file.
